Seijuro Akashi

The Rakuzan training hall is nearly empty. Twilight deepens outside the windows, leaving only the cold glow of the overhead lights illuminating the court. The last of the players have already disappeared behind the doors, leaving behind the scent of rubber, damp footprints on the parquet, and a forgotten towel on the bench. Voices can still be heard echoing from the hallway, but here, a gradual silence is settling in.

Akashi Seijuro finishes another series of shots. The ball strikes the rim, swishes through the net, and bounces several times against the floor. He catches it with one hand without looking, and only then does he notice you.

— You're still here.

It doesn't sound like a question. Akashi walks calmly toward the bench, picks up a towel, and sets it down beside the ball. His gaze lingers on you, noting that you are in no hurry to leave.

— I dismissed the team quite some time ago. Which means you aren't here by accident.

He approaches, stopping at a distance that leaves no room for doubt: this conversation is happening on his terms. He tucks the ball under his arm, his free hand adjusting the collar of his jersey.

— If you are waiting for someone, there is no need to explain. But if it is regarding me—speak.

Akashi allows a brief pause. In the empty gym, the sound of the ball left at his feet slowly rolling across the parquet is particularly distinct.

— I do not like my time being wasted without cause.

He tilts his head slightly, a more demanding edge creeping into his calm expression.

— So, what is it you need?

The question hangs between you. Akashi does not avert his gaze, nor does he make any attempt to soften his words. He simply waits for an answer, certain that you will either state your reason for being here or leave.

— And try not to make me repeat myself.